


Beginning to Believe

by Marguerite



Series: The Triumph of Principles [5]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Post Bartlett Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-09
Updated: 2009-04-09
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marguerite/pseuds/Marguerite
Summary: 2010"When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become President; I'm beginning to believe it."--Clarence Darrow





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

January  
New York City  
***

Jogging in Central Park at seven in the morning wasn't something C.J. particularly enjoyed - she was more of an indoor track kind of person, and her slender frame found the winter air shocking rather than invigorating - but Josh really wanted to do it. \"Faster, C.J. - I need to work off some energy!\" he half-shouted as they made their way past the stand of horse-drawn carriages in front of the Plaza.

\"You could just rent a damn bike or something. Your knees aren't what they used to be,\" C.J. called ahead to him after they were cut off by a teenager on rollerblades. \"And it's cold.\"

\"Running will warm you up - c'mon, C.J., don't be a wet blanket.\" He was jogging in place, sweat already staining the front of his shirt. His ears and nose were bright pink, making him look like a tall, dimpled elf.

\"If I were a wet blanket, then I'd be frozen stiff. Come to think of it, that's exactly what I am.\" Grumbling, C.J. sprinted long enough to catch Josh, then settled down into his easy rhythm. \"Listen, I'd be glad to come with you to the hospital. I know it's going to be difficult.\"

\"Nope.\" Hard-headed as ever. The day Amy was transferred from her London hospital to New York's Mount Sinai, Josh had cleared his calendar and started camping out in C.J.'s apartment until the doctors declared that Amy could have visitors. Today was that day, and Josh was going in the late afternoon. Abbey was there now. The advance team of one, talking to the doctors - or, more likely, grilling them - and seeing Amy first, so that Josh could be prepared for what was going to be an upsetting reunion.

Sighing, C.J. looked back over her shoulder at the gables of the Plaza. Abbey was going to meet them at C.J.'s apartment with what Josh called the \"Gynecology for Dummies\" report. He was more nervous than he let on, so much so that Abbey was tempted to make him stay with her at the hotel.

C.J. wanted to keep him close. Besides, he was a surprisingly low-maintenance houseguest, needing nothing more than the chance to make several phone calls a day to Sam, keeping abreast of the campaign. Josh talked to Donna every night, handing the phone over to C.J. at some point in mid-conversation.

Donna seemed to be in surprisingly good spirits, despite this latest bump in her road with Josh. She channeled her public outrage by helping the candidates put women's health issues front and center. How she managed to keep comforting Josh while dealing with her private woes was something she didn't share with C.J.

Every night, C.J. returned the phone to Josh, who went with it into the guest bedroom and quietly spoke to Donna for a few more minutes. Something in his tone was so intimate, so loving, that C.J. marveled at how this could be the same Josh Lyman who was, well, such a Josh Lyman.

They stopped running. Josh leaned over, hands on his thighs, breathing heavily. \"It's cold,\" he said.

\"Well, duh.\" C.J. put her arm around his shoulders. \"C'mon, old man, let's get some coffee and walk back like human beings.\"

\"You wound me, C.J. To the quick.\" He straightened up, walking so close that his arm brushed hers. Something was off in the way he breathed, as if he were working to control the depth and speed.

She often wondered if the aftereffects of the shooting were coming back to haunt him. The bullet had passed terrifyingly close to his heart, after all, and for years he'd had pain in his arm and back. Perhaps that had never gone away. She couldn't imagine that kind of pain, that kind of long-term suffering, and that train of thought brought her right back to Amy.

Josh was glancing at her. \"You okay?\" he asked. \"Looks as if you're zoning out a little.\"

\"Just thinking.\" She put her arm through his, tugging him close as they waited in line for coffee.

\"I know,\" he said softly. \"I'm thinking, too. You want cream, right?\" He fished around in the pocket of his sweats and handed money to the man behind the cart, then reached for the two steaming cups.

\"Thanks.\" C.J. blew across the top, watching the ripples move across the smooth liquid. She and Josh took their time going down Fifth Avenue, both of them lost in thought.

\"You don't even notice them, do you?\" Josh asked, and C.J. had to rouse herself from her reverie.

\"Notice who?\"

\"The...people.\" Josh gestured with the cup, spilling some on his hand, and he winced as he shook the hot drops off. \"There've been, like twenty people who've said hello to you, and you just smile and say hello back. But I can tell that you don't really think about it.\"

\"You're right.\" He was, and she was surprised at his acuity. \"It used to either thrill or annoy me, depending on what I was doing. But now it doesn't register.\"

\"That's interesting.\" Josh scanned the street, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet as they waited at a stop light. \"You and Sam are two of the most famous people in the country right now. Matt's getting to be right up there, too. And then there are the Bartlets. All these famous people around me.\"

C.J. snickered. \"You have a fan club in D.C., all your very own. Or have they abandoned you for cuter pastures?\"

\"It's not the same thing. Political groupies are a small, inbred bunch. The people you reach are...everyone.\"

\"Josh, if you have a point to make, then please make it before we get to 57th Street.\"

It was his turn to laugh. \"It just amuses me, that's all. People fawning all over you in the middle of the greatest city in the U.S., and you don't notice.\" 

She hadn't given it much thought. Just part of the job. Routine. \"How's Nina doing with the publicity?\"

\"Carol's got a handle on everything. All Nina has to do is smile and look charming. And , fortunately, that's not hard.\" He tossed his empty cup into a trash can. \"We still have some mumblings and rumblings from both sides of the women's issues - she's not feminist enough, she's not traditional enough.\" 

\"What are you going to do?\" C.J. asked, finishing her coffee so that they could go into the restaurant. \"I mean, about the image thing.\"

Josh grimaced. \"Jed told us to have Bruno Gianelli look the situation over.\"

Glad that she no longer had anything in her mouth, C.J. started to laugh. \"Man, forget fundraising. Just sell tickets to Nina kicking Bruno's ass. Has she met him?\"

\"Uh, no. We thought it might be best if they went into this as absolute strangers. The idea is that once she gets an earful of Bruno, she'll be ready to listen to Toby. He's easier to take, by comparison.\"

\"You think? Here we are.\" They went into the crowded deli, where a sour-faced woman broke into an unexpected smile and waved her hands at C.J.

\"Ms. Cregg, come back here. I've got a place for you.\"

\"Tell me again why fame sucks?\" Josh asked with a leer, and C.J. elbowed him in the ribs. They sat down, ordering huge breakfasts that would completely negate the effects of the morning's minimal exercise.

A man at a nearby table turned over the pages of his paper, and C.J. caught a glimpse of this morning's article about Amy's return to the United States. She hadn't shown it to Josh, and she hoped he didn't see it. But he turned around to follow her line of sight, and the muscles in his jaw tightened visibly when his glance fell on the old photo of Amy, taken around the time of Leo's funeral.

Josh turned back around and lowered his head. \"I don't think I can talk anymore,\" he whispered.

\"I know. It's okay,\" C.J. assured him, reaching across the table to put her hand on top of his. She tried not to watch him as he picked at his food, and she had enough sense not to try to talk to him or change the subject that was on both of their minds. The waitress put their excess breakfast into aluminum containers, clucking her tongue at the \"sad, skinny boy,\" and they walked quickly back to C.J.'s apartment.

Hot showers and the morning news put them both into a more positive mood. Josh lounged on the sofa, writing illegible memos in a notebook. C.J. sat at the little desk and went over interview notes for later in the week. She was so engrossed in her work that the buzzer startled her. She pushed the black button, noticing that Josh was already on his feet, and moments later a Secret Service agent opened the door for Abbey before melting back into the decor of the hallway.

She was dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater, and she carried a leather-bound legal pad. C.J. hugged her, then brought her over to Josh. Abbey put her arms around him and held him close for several moments. \"Let's sit down,\" she said, taking him by the hand and sitting next to him on the sofa.

C.J. nodded toward her bedroom. \"Should I...?\"

\"No, no, she said she wants you to know everything.\"

\"How is she?\" Josh asked, his voice quavering a little.

Abbey smiled, although there was worry in her eyes. \"She's doing better than I expected, actually. She's going to have more surgery next week, but she's been doing quite a bit of physical therapy in the meanwhile and it's looking good for her. Come sit with us, C.J., and I'll go over it with you.\"

Of the many difficult things she had done in her life, few had been as awful as listening to Abbey describe the extent of Amy's injuries. Relatively little cutting had taken place, but the cuts that were made were deep and infection had begun to set in even as the medics came to take her to the hospital. Amy had developed an allergy to the antibiotic cream, which made the wounds even more painful, and which accounted for the long stay in London before she could be moved.

Abbey drew pictures of what the area now looked like, and on top of those drew pictures of what the reconstruction could or could not do for Amy. C.J. bit her lips so hard that she almost drew blood, and her fingernails bit into the palms of her clenched hands. Josh's face was white.

\"She wanted to have children someday,\" he said. \"Will that be safe?\"

\"The infection didn't spread to her internal organs, so conception won't be an issue. Actually giving birth is going to depend on the amount of scarring and on how hard the scar tissue is. But it's still possible to have a Cesarean even if vaginal delivery proves to be more than she or the baby could handle.\"

Josh tried to ask another question, but no sounds came out of his open mouth.

Patting him on the knee, Abbey said, soothingly, \"The human body has amazing powers of regeneration and rerouting. Especially when it comes to pleasure centers. Amy's a strong, healthy woman, Josh. She'll find ways.\" 

C.J. closed the binder. \"Thank you for explaining this, Abbey. It's been hard, not...knowing.\"

\"She wanted you to know, especially, C.J.,\" Abbey said, \"and she wants to see you in a couple of days, before the next surgery. She said she'd be fine with seeing Josh right away, since she knows he won't be able to spend much more time here. What do you say, Josh? You up to it?\"

He nodded. \"Can you give me about ten minutes?\"

C.J. and Abbey watched him walk, a little unsteadily, to the bedroom. Abbey opened her arms to C.J., holding on to her while they waited for Josh to return.

***

He had come back out with red eyes, but his demeanor was quiet and composed. Abbey had offered to take him to the hospital, but Josh said he would probably need to walk home alone afterwards.

The cab ride was a blur, a numbing fifteen minutes during which time he saw and heard nothing. Naima met him at the main entrance, hugged him, said how glad Amy would be to see him, but Josh could make only the most minimal of responses. Thinking, feeling - those would just break him down, and he refused to allow that.

\"Just a few minutes,\" Naima cautioned. \"She's got jet lag on top of everything else, and her visit with Mrs. Bartlet almost wore her out.\" She opened the door to a private room. \"It's Josh.\"

\"Good, send him in.\"

\"She still thinks she's my boss,\" Naima declared as she gave Josh a gentle push. \"It's okay. It's okay.\"

He hadn't brought flowers. He had meant to stop along the way, but--

\"Hey, J. Thanks for coming to see me.\" She was smiling. Her face was thin, and there were dark circles under her eyes, but she was smiling, so Josh couldn't help but smile back. Amy broke eye contact with him and turned to Naima. \"Can you give us a few minutes?\"

\"Absolutely.\" The door closed, and Josh was alone with his ex-wife.

He didn't know what to say.

\"I don't know what to say,\" he whispered. He leaned on the bed rail with one hand and stroked Amy's cheek with the other.

\"Did Abbey give you the talk? Wait, don't answer that, you're blushing.\"

\"A little.\" He paused. \"How do you feel?\"

\"Much better. I haven't been running a temperature for days, so I'm starting to feel human again. I'm walking around, I'm exercising.\" She cocked her head to one side. \"I'm seeing a therapist.\"

\"Yeah, Abbey said you were in physical therapy.\"

\"Not that kind of therapist, Josh,\" she said, almost laughing. \"A, you know, therapist.\"

\"Oh.\"

\"Wanna know why?\" Amy teased.

Teased. How did she do that? Josh tried to control his breathing. \"I can imagine...well, I really can't imagine, but I can...understand...why...\"

\"It gets better than that. Aside from the obvious, it seems that I also have - wait for it - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.\" She reached up and tugged at the front of his shirt until he leaned over her. Her eyes were still wide, still dark, but with a haunted quality Josh knew all too well. \"His and Hers PTSD, Josh.\"

\"We should've gotten monogrammed towels,\" he murmured. \"That must have been what went wrong. We didn't have towels.\"

\"I don't think a well-stocked linen closet would've solved much of anything,\" Amy said firmly. She let go of his shirt and lay back in the bed, her hands folded loosely over her abdomen. \"I just thought it was funny. Not, you know, in the hilarious sense, but ironic. Because one of the things that drove me crazy about you was not knowing what to do when you had an attack.\"

His heart in his throat, Josh put one hand on top of hers the way C.J. had done for him just a few hours earlier. \"Do you know what to do when you have an attack?\"

Amy shrugged and looked away. \"I'm learning.\"

\"I understand. And it does get...not easier, exactly, but manageable.\" He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

\"Josh...\"

\"Ssh. Just listen for a minute, okay?\" It felt weird, comforting her, but as strange as it was, it also felt right. \"One of the reasons I got so screwed up is that I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't think they'd understand, because they didn't get shot.\" He hoped she could see the parallel. If not now, then perhaps later. But Amy looked alert as she met his eyes and waited for him to continue. \"But just because it didn't happen to them didn't mean they wouldn't have tried to help me. I know what it feels like to live through something that terrifying over and over again. Please, don't make yourself go through those feelings.\"

\"I'm trying hard not to, Josh. And most days, I'm all right.\"

\"When you're not, though, I want you to call me.\"

She shook her head, her dark hair falling into her face. \"Donna would kill me.\"

\"How the hell do you...oh, never mind. Donna would not kill you. Or me. She went through it, too, in a lot of ways, and she'd be glad to help in any way she could.\"

She would. One of the things Josh loved most about Donna was her boundless compassion. She'd been the one to insist that he go to New York as soon as possible, and when he'd asked her to come with him, she'd said that he needed this time - not just with Amy, but with C.J. and Abbey, who had such unique ways of helping people heal.

Amy smiled brighter this time, some of her old sauciness returning. \"She's a good person. I can see why you love her so much. Don't screw it up.\"

\"I won't! Why does everyone think I'm incapable of maintaining a relationship without causing irreparable damage?\"

\"Because we know you. Yet we love you anyway. C'mere.\" She beckoned him down and kissed him. Not like before, not like the hunger of their early days or the fire of their post-argument lovemaking. Just sweet, and simple, and tender.

She was dear to him, of course, and part of his soul would always grieve for what had happened to her. But his love for her had altered in the past two years, replaced by respect and awe for her incredible courage.

\"When you say you see why I love Donna so much,\" he said flippantly, trying to cover the extremes of emotion he was feeling, \"you don't mean that you really...see why?\"

It took her a second to process Josh's cryptic question, then she laughed at him. Really laughed, hiccuping a little as she held hands with him. \"Don't worry. She's straight.\"

\"That's what I thought about you, and look how wrong I was.\"

\"That's because you're you. I'm me, and I'm telling you she's straight.\"

\"Straight?\"

\"As an arrow, Josh. You'll only have to worry about losing her to another man.\"

\"Thank God,\" Josh sighed. His eyes widened. \"You know, it's very strange for me to be having this conversation with my ex-wife.\"

Amy nodded, biting her lip for a few seconds before speaking again. \"Probably. But then, nothing much about anyone's relationship with you can be categorized as anything but 'strange.'\"

\"True.\" He had just begun to think about those he had loved and lost when Amy squeezed his hand.

\"There's no such thing as the Lyman Curse, Josh. Don't even think of blaming yourself for what happened to me. And don't use it as an excuse to back away from Donna again.\"

He had to swallow hard before he could talk. \"I'll never understand how you can be lying here, after all you've been through, and lecture me on my love life, or lack thereof.\"

\"I think you understand more than you realize.\" She tightened her grip on his hand. \"I do love you, Josh. I want you to be happy. As happy as I am with Naima, especially now that we're safe and nothing can happen to Angela.\"

\"She has you to thank for that,\" Josh started, but Amy waved him to silence.

\"I'm not comfortable...with those words,\" she said softly. \"I don't like to think of myself as a martyr.\" With a little grimace she settled back into the pillows. \"I'm starting to fade. It's been a long day. It really was good to see you, Josh.\"

\"You, too.\" He leaned over, resting his cheek against hers. \"You sure you don't want to marry me again?\"

\"I'm trying to get well, Josh,\" Amy groaned, and that made them both laugh. \"Give my love to C.J., and tell her to come see me in a couple of days. You - you go home to Donna before I kick your ass.\" She turned her head so she could kiss him on the cheek, then she closed her eyes and dropped off to sleep.

Josh stood next to the bed, holding Amy's hand. He stayed like that for a long time, remembering the past, thinking of the present, and hoping for the future. When Naima came in a few minutes later and took his place, Josh felt a wave of relief crest over him, washing him clean, carrying him, like an awe-struck traveler, to a tantalizing new place.


	2. Chapter 2

***  
February  
Washington, D.C.  
***

At a year and two months of age, Helen Seaborn was quite a handful. Sam claimed that it was caused by all the music she'd heard in utero. Nina was inclined toward the theory that listening to endless political rhetoric cooed over her cradle had made her hyperactive. "God knows it leaves me squirming," she said as she held her daughter on her lap and gently ran a brush through her curly black hair.

Helen scowled and fidgeted, her blue eyes welling up with tears. Remembering what it was like to be in her own mother's lap, undergoing the same torture, Nina paused and sang a little song in Helen's ear. Helen grabbed the brush in her own chubby fist and made a few passes at her mother's hair, giggling. That task accomplished, she reached out toward the man sitting next to them.

"Good luck," Toby said, indicating the last of the remaining waves of salt-and-pepper hair at the back of his head. "How good is her aim?"

"Not so good," Nina mumbled around the bristles that were tickling her lips. "Okay, that's it for today. If your daddy wants you to grow your hair long because it's so pretty, then he gets to brush it out."

Seemingly content with that remark, Helen snuggled between Nina and the side of the loveseat and curled up for a nap. Toby took the opportunity to hand Nina a cup of coffee, which she accepted with a grateful sigh.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," she said, "although I still don't know why everyone thinks I need a watchdog just because Sam and Josh are in California. What's the deal with this guy, that Sam thinks I need protection?"

"Bruno Gianelli is...he has a reputation for being...difficult."

"So does Josh."

"Yes, and it's well-deserved, but..." Toby waved his hand in the air, drawing imaginary shapes. "There's one difference between Bruno and a piranha." He paused, consummate speechwriter that he was, then answered his own riddle. "A necktie."

Nina, confused, blinked at him. "If he's that bad, then why is Sam consulting with him - and why is he coming to see me?"

"Because he may be a barracuda, but he's an absolute genius at political strategy. After the M.S. scandal broke, and the entire world thought the Bartlet administration was going to go down in flames, Bruno managed to get us back on our feet and headed in the right direction. Not that we thought so at the time - believe me when I tell you that I wanted nothing more in the world than to see his body rotating on a spit over an open fire - but now, looking back on it, we'd have been dead in the water without him."

She understood that part. What she didn't understand was why, since Sam was doing so well in the polls that he was practically a shoo-in for the nomination, they needed to consult this Gianelli guy in the first place.

"You and I both know that Sam's going to be the nominee," Toby said as if reading her mind, "and that it doesn't seem as if we need any help. However, it doesn't hurt to ask, just in case we missed something."

"Something about my image?" Nina asked, wrinkling her nose. "What's wrong with my image?"

"I have no idea. We all think you're going to be an exceptional First Lady. However, the campaign managers think it might be a good idea to get input from someone who doesn't know you personally, just to make sure you get to be First Lady."

The title still made her a little queasy. "I wish people would stop saying that. Some days I'm convinced that I'd just be an exceptional basket case." 

Toby nodded, rubbing his beard between thumb and forefinger. "Abbey's really sorry that she couldn't come up, but her schedule's pretty full for the next few months. Why she thought I'd be a good substitute, I can't imagine."

"Oh, I understand exactly why." She knew that behind Toby's relaxed posture and veiled, smoky eyes was a mind every bit as keen as Sam's, if not more so, and the heart of a warrior. He was a panther masquerading as a housecat. He also had a deep and abiding affection for his friends, tucked carefully away behind a caustic façade. So, if Bruno Gianelli was going to be inclined to push Nina around, then Toby would be the perfect foil.

Suddenly nervous, she took a few swipes at her own hair with Helen's brush and ran her fingertips under her eyes, checking for wayward mascara. The doorbell made her stiffen, her hands clutching the brush as if it were a lifeline. She heard a Secret Service agent ask a few questions, then looked up to see a dark, hawk-like man looking down at her.

"Don't get up," he said, standing in front of her with his hands clasped behind his back. "I know we don't have a lot of time, so why don't we get down to it? Can the child go away, please?"

"She's sleeping," Nina said, half angry with the man's incredible rudeness and half angry with herself for being affected by it.

"Whatever." He turned around and nodded at Toby. "You're here."

"I am," Toby said mildly.

"Why?"

"Because Sam's out of town, and I felt like visiting." Although he hadn't moved, Nina got the impression that he was coiled for a strike.

"Whatever," he said again. At last he seemed to remember his manners, and he held his hand out to Nina. "Bruno Gianelli."

"Thank you for coming. Won't you have some coffee?" Shifting carefully so as not to wake Helen, Nina went into the kitchen and brought back a pot of coffee and a clean cup for Bruno. She set everything down on the table. "All right, then, Mr. Gianelli - what shall we talk about?"

"You," he said, pouring coffee without changing the direction of his gaze. He took a seat in the chair next to Toby's. "I'm here to talk about you."

"What do you need to know?" Nina asked, but Bruno waved the coffee at her.

"Please - there's very little about you that I don't know. Born in Boston to an American father and British mother who died when you were in your teens. Spent summers studying with William Primrose in Utah. Attended Oberlin for your undergrad degree and Juilliard for your Master's, then went to England to study with Gwynne Edwards. You were the youngest member of the Philadelphia Orchestra, and the youngest woman ever to be an Assistant Principal of the American Symphony until being asked to take a leave of absence last month. In December, 2007, you married Sam Seaborn, and then just one year later, you gave birth to a daughter, Helen." He paused. "She's a big girl for her age, isn't she?"

Nina smiled at this first glimpse of warmth. "She's tall - my father's very tall, so I suppose--"

"Let's make sure we have a statement from your physician, just in case someone decides the child was born eight months after the wedding or something. All we need is the gossip that you caught Sam the old-fashioned way."

Momentarily stunned, Nina had to take a few breaths. "How...how dare you even think things like that?"

"Nina," Bruno said, leaning toward her with his eyebrows raised, "how dare you not think about these things? Do you honestly believe that people won't look for a chink in the armor of this happy marriage? If my questions seem harsh, then please remember that it'll be harsher still coming from the mouths of some of the right-wing reporters waiting to trip you up, or from the insipid women's magazines who want to make a spectacle out of someone so young, pretty, and successful."

She looked at Toby, whose face bore a studied expression of neutrality. Okay, save it, she told herself. Toby will jump in when he thinks the time is right.

"Sam and Josh said you were an image expert," she said, hoping to distract Bruno from any further impertinence about Helen's conception. "What is it, exactly, that you want to do to mine?"

"I want to figure out which way to go with you. You're quite the enigma, as political wives go. No politics in your family, no sudden surges of interest on your part. You're a successful career woman who took her husband's name, then surrendered her career for his. It's not going to play well, the way it's happened."

"With whom?"

"The ladies," Bruno said with a smug smile. "They want a role model, but your role is so damn confusing that they don't know what to make of you."

Nina glanced at Toby, who made the merest shrug but said nothing.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"Stand up."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Stand up." Bruno waved his finger in the air. "You're not very tall, but that's okay because Sam isn't, either. Don't wear shoes with more than one inch of heel. Dresses rather than suits, I think. More feminine."

"Excuse me, but what the hell--"

"As for the job thing, maybe if you had another baby - that's why you left the symphony, so you could concentrate on Helen and take care of yourself during the busy campaign season." Before Nina could do anything other than clench her teeth, Bruno shook his head. "No, I guess not."

"I should say not!" Nina exclaimed.

"March, April, May, June..." He ticked off the months on his fingers and frowned. "Even if you got pregnant now, you might not have the baby in time for the election, and it would be catastrophic if you went into labor late in the campaign and Sam had to miss an event. Besides, you might not have your figure back in time for the inauguration."

"Heaven forbid," Toby mumbled into his beard. He shot a glance at Nina, his dark eyes shining with amusement.

Son of a bitch, he was enjoying this.

"Sam's and my plans for...for...procreation are none of your business," Nina growled. "What other plans do you have for me?"

"Most of it's pretty simple - working with kids, getting musical instruments to children in poor districts and getting photo ops while you teach them to play." He made it sound disreputable. "Then we need to work on the physical stuff – not so much with the glamour, because women already resent you for taking Sam off the market. I'm thinking understated elegance. Like Jackie Kennedy."

"Planning to bring pillbox hats back into style, Bruno?" Toby asked.

"Don't mock me. We haven't had a lady as a First Lady in a while, and here we have one born and bred." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Nina's just a nickname. You should go by Jacqueline. It'll get shortened to Jackie in the press, and that way it won't look like you did it yourself."

"Are you serious?" Nina asked incredulously. "I mean it - are you serious?"

"It could give Sam a big bump in the polls, and softening you might help with Republican-leaning women who are sick of cows like May Schiller."

"You're insane."

"Listen, Nina, this whole freak-show of a campaign is insane. I have no doubt that Sam means well, and I'll definitely be voting for him. But he's got a gay running mate with a goddamn dress designer - and, by the way, could it be a worse stereotype? - for a boyfriend, and a campaign chairman who's a card-carrying nut-job whose wife left him for a woman. Then, to top it off, Sam has a wife who has her nose so far up in the air about keeping herself away from the uncleanliness of politics that she could very well cost him entire states!"

Roused by the noise, Helen pulled herself upright and started to cry. Nina swept her up in her arms, stroking her hair and glaring at Bruno. "I'll give your suggestions the consideration they deserve," she said between clenched teeth. "Which is to say that I'll have dismissed them by the time you get your ass out of my home."

"Have it your way," Bruno said as he rose and headed for the door. "Just, for the love of God, don't do anything that'll put Schiller back in the White House for another four years. The country can't take it."

Nina watched as the Secret Service agent escorted Bruno out of the house and closed the door before discreetly fading into the kitchen. Still cradling Helen, she gave Toby an angry look. "Thanks so much for all your help."

"Didn't think you needed any," he said softly. "You were doing pretty well, there."

"Pillbox hats, my ass," she said, then grimaced. "I just said 'ass' twice in three minutes with my daughter right here."

"She spent the weekend of your anniversary up at the farm with Jed and Abbey. You think she didn't hear 'ass' a few times?"

"I suppose." Nina started to tremble, anger and misery at war inside her head. "Do you think any of what he said is true, Toby? Am I a liability to Sam?"

"Sure you are," Toby said, setting his coffee cup down carefully and getting up from the chair. "Just as any strong-willed, intelligent woman would be to a politician. But it's time for the country to get over itself." He stood next to her and held his hands out. "Go for a walk, get some air. I'll take her."

To Nina's surprise, Helen reached for Toby and let him carry her to the chair, her sobs subsiding to little hiccups as he put her on his lap and patted her back gingerly. "Go ahead. We can talk when you get back."

Dawn.

"That's why you're here, isn't it? They sent you to talk about my 'image,' and they wanted to soften me up by showing me the worst-case scenario."

"Maybe," Toby said quietly. "Listen, can Helen have coffee?"

"No!" Nina snatched a plastic cup from the table. "It's milk. She won't spill because the lid has a thing."

"Ah. No caffeine for you, then," he said as Helen smiled up at him.

"Okay." Nina ran her fingers through her hair for a moment. The gesture always made Sam laugh when he saw it, because Josh so often did the same thing when he was thinking. "Okay. You can talk to me when I get back, but I won't promise anything. And no coffee, no sugar, no anything for Helen."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Toby, are you listening to me?"

"Absolutely..." Toby mumbled as he reached for a nearby shelf and pulled out a well-worn book. He waited until Nina had joined up her agent and left the house before picking up one of the soft cookies on the saucer, breaking it in half, and presenting it to Helen with exaggerated courtesy. "...not," he finished. Opening the book, he started to read aloud as Helen gnawed on her treat. "'Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies...'"

***  
March  
***

"It's all wrapped up?" Sam asked Ginger, who rolled her eyes at him.

"Hand-delivered by courier. The House opens it tomorrow, and the debate's not anticipated to last longer than a day. Wrapped up," she said as she turned back to her computer screen.

"Good." Sam smiled at the back of Ginger's head. Trying to accomplish anything on women's issues was tricky at the best of times, but now that he was the prohibitive favorite for the Democratic nomination he found that his hands were tied by accusations of electioneering. He'd been channeling some of his ideas through others in the Senate, and in the House as well, keeping his name off of legislation and keeping his profile as low as possible. It was driving him crazy, but it had to be done that way. Usually.

This time, however, it was personal. He knew he was going to push for a resolution to get the United Nations to propose a ban on female genital mutilation on an international level from the moment he had seen C.J.'s news report. He didn't need C.J.'s prodding, Abbey's reminders, or Donna's outright demands. He was convinced long before he picked Josh up at the airport when he came back from New York, and that conviction was only strengthened when he went to visit Amy at the rehabilitation hospital.

He was going to get this done, no matter what.

"I have a meeting with Senator Skinner. Page me if you hear from Hernandez or McMillan, but otherwise just take a message and I'll get back with them."

"Oh. Wait." Ginger reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a thin notebook. "Could you give this to Matt, to give to Gary? He's going to save me the blue dress from the Crisis Center benefit and let me wear it to the Cherry Blossom Ball - I marked it, here, with a post-it--"

Sam, indignant, took two steps backward. "Ginger, I'm a United States Senator. Do you really think it's a good idea to take up my precious time shopping for evening wear for my assistant?"

"You're playing basketball, Sam. It's not like a matter of life or death." She got up and tucked the notebook in Sam's breast pocket, then patted him on the chest. "There. It won't be so bad."

He gave her a glum look. "You need to treat me with more...deference. That is, if you want to work in the White House someday."

"Been there, done that, still have parking tickets from last time." She smiled at him. "Sam, believe me, I will defer to you in all matters of importance to the nation. But this is about the Cherry Blossom Ball, and I will not be denied."

"Got it." Sam grinned at her, his mood improving by leaps and bounds. He was having a good day. He'd buy her the damn dress, and everything that went with it, just to see the look on her face. Before that, however, he'd kick Matt's ass at basketball, have lunch, and be back at the office in time for a series of interminable meetings about grain silos and import taxes on stupid things that no one wanted to buy, anyway.

Vote for me, he thought, and I'll run through Congress on horseback with a scythe, cutting the chaff.

There would be a coaching session on international economic policy via the internet while he had dinner at home with Nina and Helen, a few minutes to chat with Toby about recent polling data, and notes about three bills coming through the Senate in the next week.

Following that, he decided, there would be sex.

He stopped by Matt's office, waving his duffel bag in Donna's direction as she stood by a white board, farming out duties to assorted staffers. She grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up as he passed.

Matt met him at the door, his backpack slung over one shoulder. "You ready?"

"More than ready. And you can get me up to speed on the Mitchell thing while we go." They each had Secret Service agents with them - Matt had received more than his fair share of what Josh called the "interesting" letters - and for that reason their entourage was bigger than they wanted when they tried to sneak away to play basketball and talk strategy. Nonetheless, they often managed to get in a few fast games before it was time to get ready for their respective afternoon tasks. Today Matt, as usual, beat Sam rather handily in the first game and then deliberately threw the second.

There were so few indulgences in their lives, anymore.

Sam made a truly impressive three-pointer at the beginning of the third game. As he dribbled the ball a few times, he saw his lead agent coming onto the court. "Oh, this can not be good," he mumbled, tossing the ball at Matt.

"Sorry to interrupt, Senator, but there's something on television that you need to see."

Sam grabbed a towel and mopped his forehead. "What's going on?"

"It's a crawl on CNN, sir. It should play back in a moment." The men stared at the screen as sports scores went past. "That's it."

Matt wrapped his towel around his neck as he read aloud. "'International groups decry U.S.-backed proposal to ban female circumcision, citing U.S. colonialism attempting to rob nations of their cultures.' Wow - that's unexpected."

"Colonialism?" Sam snapped. "Colonialism is colonization. It's putting McDonald's on every street corner and ousting heads of state because we don't like them. This is about keeping young women and girls from being brutalized!"

"I know, I know." Matt put his hand on Sam's arm. "Get back to the office and find out what the hell's happening. I'll go home and make some calls."

"Yeah." Sam stalked to the showers, feeling as if there couldn't be enough soap in the world to wash him clean of the unadulterated anger. He dressed quickly, not bothering to comb his hair, and let the agents take him back to his office.

Josh was already there, looking for all the world as if he'd been eating raw coffee beans by the handful. "How the hell did the wheels come off this thing, Sam? Didn't we talk to just about everyone, and didn't they all agree that this needs to happen?"

"Yes. And sit down, for God's sake. You're making me nervous." Sam plopped down in his chair, looking with aggravation at the television. A journalist he'd never seen before was interviewing a pundit from some global organization no one had ever heard of.

"The sickening tendency of the United States to put its bland stamp on native customs all over the world must be brought to a halt," said the pundit, his gold-rimmed glasses winking in the studio lights.

"But there are those who say that this custom amounts to child abuse. What does your organization say about that claim?"

"We don't have to say anything. Women and girls from countries where circumcision is the norm say it for us. For every American who says it's an outrage, there are ten women - who underwent the ritual themselves - who say that they would be outcasts in their own societies without it and that they'd find ways to do it themselves if it were banned. It's not for us to interfere."

The journalist had the decency, unprofessional as it may have been, to look nauseated. "Your organization has filed a specific complaint against the authors of the legislation, Congresspersons Hernandez and McMillan, is that correct?"

"They're just the fronts," said the interviewee. A graphic went up to say that his name was Allen Deskin. "The man behind the idea is Senator Sam Seaborn of California."

"I'm breaking heads!" Josh cried. He reached for his cell phone and stormed out of the room. Sam, meanwhile, watched in fascination as the interview played out. Deskin was obviously someone's shill, parroting carefully-rehearsed lines. It was annoying, to be sure, but it wasn't going to be a thing.

At least, that's what he thought before Josh came back in a few minutes later. "We've got a thing," he breathed. "This guy, Deskin, he's nothing. No one knows anything about him - except that his son-in-law works for the President's Liason office." He paused. "Know what I think?"

"That Schiller was waiting to drop this on me?"

"Yes, but I think it's going to go farther than that." Josh's mind was obviously moving faster than his mouth, and he had to stop to take deep breaths. "Okay. You've got polling numbers so high you need to take Dramamine to look at them. You're obviously going to be the Democratic nominee for President - screw the primaries. No one's gonna run against you at that level. So let's say I work for Schiller, and I want to give him four more years in office. Short of having you killed, what do I do?"

Sam's heart sank. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Pick an issue that's tied closely to you, get ultra-liberals worked up over it, get women's groups divided over it, and then produce a third-party candidate who'll shave votes from just one party--"

"--the Democrats," they finished together.

Josh leaned against the bookcase while Sam stood, frowning, with his arms folded across his chest. "What do we do for damage control?" he asked.

"I swear to God, I don't know." Josh's tone was rough, edgy. "I'm going to call C.J., get her opinion. And Toby. I am not going to let this yutz screw us." He sighed heavily and put his hands over his face. "Leo would've seen this coming a mile away. He'd never have let you get into a situation like this."

"Hey. None of that." Groaning, Sam settled into the chair behind his desk. "Nobody thought of this. We talked to Toby, to Jed, to people from State, to delegates to the U.N. This one's not you."

"That's not good enough," Josh said firmly. "It's my job to keep crap like this from happening. It's my job to plan far enough ahead, to look at all the angles. I figured it out fast enough once the pieces were put in front of me – the problem is that I didn't see the pieces until they were dropped on my head."

"It happens," Sam said softly. "We'll fix it."

"There shouldn't be anything to fix. It shouldn't have happened in the first place. C'mon, Sam, you know my head's been everywhere but the game the last few months. You should fire my ass, you know."

Oh, God, please, not a full-blown Josh Lyman self-loathing session. "I'm not going to do that."

"Why the hell not? If I were you, I'd fire me."

"Well, it's lucky for both of us that you're not me. Because I absolutely cannot, will not, do this without you at the wheel. It's a screw-up, Josh, and it's too bad because this project is something we both believe in. But we will find a way to hit whatever Schiller's throwing at us out of the ballpark and get the proposal passed in the bargain."

Josh regarded him with bleary eyes. "How?"

"Same way I get everything else done," Sam said, getting up and putting his hand on Josh's shoulder.

"How?" Josh repeated.

"I tell my best friend about it, let him think it through, and then take his advice."

Josh, who had never been able to receive a compliment without coming completely unhinged, looked down and away for a moment. Nodding, he walked to the door that connected Sam's office to his, but before he left the room he turned around and looked at Sam, the beginnings of a smile curving his lips as he spoke. "I won't let you down."

The door closed, and through the space at the bottom Sam could see the lights going on. Sam smiled. Nothing made him happier than a good metaphor.

"You never do," Sam whispered. "You never do."


	3. Beginning to Believe

April  
Manchester  
***

C.J. wrapped the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders as she read, sneaking an occasional glance at Toby. He was either napping beside her on the hearth rug or playing possum.

He opened one eye. Possum. "You're not going over this all again, are you? It's a dead end, C.J."

"The dead ends have dead ends that have dead ends so dead that they can't have a wake because everything's dead." She held her hands out toward the fire. "It's freezing. How the hell can it be so cold in April?"

"Just lucky, I guess." Toby sat up and ran a hand through C.J.'s disheveled hair. "This will be the last fire of the season. We really should enjoy it."

Leaning into the caress, C.J. smiled. "I've enjoyed it twice already."

Toby always looked so damn smug after they made love, and tonight was no exception. He waggled his eyebrows at her. "I say we go for three."

"Later. I'm still going over the R.N.C. expense reports." She shuffled the papers, wishing she had her glasses but unwilling to get up from the warmth of this spot, unwilling to remove Toby's fingers from her back.

"I really don't think you'll find anything that leads directly to the Internationalist Party. They're stupid, but they're not that stupid. It'll be buried somewhere, if it's in there at all, but it's more likely that a few deep pockets put Jeffrey Sawyer in the running."

C.J. hated Jeffrey Sawyer almost as much as she hated Gregory Schiller. She felt her heart increasing to an angry tempo at the very thought of this kid, barely old enough to run, who was siphoning votes from Democrats at an alarming rate by playing to the ultra-liberals unhappy with Matt Skinner's moderate views.

"His numbers don't look good," Toby whispered into her ear, followed by an enticement that made her shudder.

"Down into the low forties - almost a sixteen-point drop. Schiller's pulling...oh, God, Toby, please don't do that...almost even, without moving a notch. It's Sawyer who's going to kick our asses."

"It won't last, C.J. These guys never do. He's just a good-looking kid willing to spout off whatever he's fed. He has even less gray matter than Robert Ritchie, and I really didn't believe that was possible."

True. Young Mr. Sawyer, a small-town public defender who'd inherited the job from his late father, had an alarming array of malapropisms at his beck and call. Still, even as a few older Democrats started to wise up, the numbers in the 18-21 demographic - both male and female - were skewed toward this upstart.

"At least Schiller's not gaining," C.J. said softly. "But it doesn't matter. Even if he doesn't gain, Sam's going to lose." And that was the one thing she had never thought possible. She called in favors from every muckraker she'd ever met. Every day she'd get some leads, and every night Josh or Donna would call back to say they'd gone nowhere.

"Makes you wonder why they're allowed to vote," Josh had groused during C.J.'s recent visit to Washington, only to be elbowed by Donna as she reminded him that the vast majority of college-age citizens were far too intelligent to be duped by this slick young man and his canned rhetoric.

The upper management at NBC threw every available obstacle into her path. She was an interviewer, not a reporter. They were short-staffed. She'd already slapped the conservatives around with the "Hell on Earth" interview and the exposure of the C.A.P. It was time for her to do something else, something like...interviewing the oversexed cook Leo used to love watching.

Something else. That's what she longed to do. Something...else.

Toby began to plant wet kisses on her shoulder, and his hands slid under the blankets and down. Down. Ooh. So much for paperwork, not when he was...

C.J. made a point of only taking Xeroxes to Manchester. After all, she was only human.

Her breathing quickened, and she felt blood pounding in her ears. Ringing. Ringing. Oh, for God's sake, not the phone. Please, please, not the phone...please, Toby...don't answer...let the machine...get it...

"Toby, it's Josh. Where the hell are you?"

"Die screaming," Toby groaned, his voice so full of sex that C.J. was glad they weren't on speakerphone. But the moment was well and truly gone, and Toby reached for the phone with a higher level of grouchiness than normal. "I'm here, Josh," he said, scrabbling for the speaker control. "Wait a second. Okay, you're on."

"Is someone there with you?"

"Yes, it's me," C.J. called out, croaking a little after all the vocalizations from earlier in the evening.

"You sound hoarse - are you getting a sore throat?"

"Not yet," Toby said dryly, and C.J. started to laugh so hard that she almost choked. "What do you have for us?"

There was a pause, during which C.J. imagined a small light bulb going off over Josh's head. Then she remembered that this was Josh at his most politically focused, his most driven. His ability to decipher subtleties, never his best feature, was surely deactivated.

Poor Donna.

"You'll love this. Matt's been getting phone calls from people pretty high up in the Republican Party - please come back, we love you, we need you, you don't want to work with Seaborn. So Matt was curious and he went to a meeting. At the White House, no less."

"Really?" Toby's eyes opened wider. "What was it about?"

"Turns out that they wanted Matt to run for Vice-President."

"He's already running...oh, my God," C.J. sputtered. "They're going to replace the Vice-President. That's unheard of! Well, I mean, we thought about it, but--"

"Exactly." Josh chuckled. "Anyway, Matt told them where to stick their offer. He said he wasn't willing to be the token gay guy on the ticket, and that they'd never be able to offer him the opportunity Sam had."

Toby grinned. "How did Schiller take that?"

"Not well. He shouted something about not allowing Sam Seaborn within a hundred yards of the Oval Office, whereupon Matt reminded him that Sam used to work a lot closer than that. I think his credentials may be pulled for a while."

"I'd have paid, you know, money to see that meeting," Toby said. "Anything yet on the Schiller-Sawyer connection?"

"I'm not finding anything. There are some people I'm going to call, and Donna's got a few ideas, too."

"Is she there? I'd love to talk to her," C.J. said as smoothly as possible. Mostly she just wanted to know if Donna was at Josh's apartment at this ungodly hour.

"It's the middle of the night!" Josh squeaked. "Of course she's not with me!"

Toby rolled his eyes at C.J. and mouthed the word "putz."

"Anyway," Josh continued blithely, "Matt just called me and I wanted to pass this along to you. When are you going home, C.J.?"

"Monday," she sighed. She didn't relish the prospect. "But I'm hoping to get a lot done by then."

"Excellent. Night, guys."

"Night, Josh." Toby ended the call and turned to C.J. with a delightfully feral look in his dark eyes. He looked so good in the amber firelight, so vital. So sexy, even after all these years, and C.J. felt the liquid warmth pooling inside her again as he crept toward her, smiling lasciviously.

"Still want to go for three?" C.J. asked coyly.

"Nuh uh," was his muffled reply as he lifted her hair and kissed each vertebra in her neck. "Five sounds like a better number for you."

C.J. tackled him, turning him over so that she was on top. She never took her eyes from his as she reached out with her long fingers, grabbed the phone cord, and yanked it out of the wall.

***  
July  
Dallas  
***

"We couldn't have the convention someplace cooler? Like Hell, for instance?"

Even in the limousine with the air conditioning on full blast, it was incredibly hot. Josh felt sweat trickling down his back, down his chest, under his arms, across his upper lip. He stared glumly at Donna, whose second coat of powder for the day was starting to clump in the curves of her neck and elbows.

"It'll cool down in a while," she said.

"When? December?"

"Josh. Please." She sat forward on the leather seat and fanned the back of her neck with a folder.

Squirming only made the sweat spread, so Josh tried to sit still. "It's a lock. I mean, he has all but about six delegates. This is going to be the easiest convention in the history of politics." He paused, running his finger across his lip and wiping the perspiration off on his pants leg. "So why do I feel like there are a hundred Cossacks marching through my chest?"

"Because tonight it's for real."

"Donna, we spent six months campaigning. It's been real for a long, long time."

"True." She didn't seem interested in the verbal sparring. A welcome blast of cold air went through the passenger area, making them both sigh with relief. "We're here."

The hotel was a welcome change from the Convention Center. Josh had practically lived at the Democratic National Convention - small, stuffy room after small, stuffy room after small, stuffy room, talking to delegates, talking to platform committees, talking to campaign staff. But tonight he'd be on his way to the vast auditorium to watch the first part of his dream come true.

In a few hours, Sam Seaborn would be the official Democratic Party candidate of the 2010 Presidential Election.

The thought made Josh sweat even harder.

"Your tux came back from the cleaners this afternoon," Donna said, looking at him with some concern as he got his damp, clammy body out of the car. "And for God's sake, take a shower. You're way past ripe."

He looked at her as she walked ahead of him into the lobby. Just a little damp around the edges, but delectable. And untouchable.

Still.

Watching their steps had become a full-time occupation. Nothing could happen during the campaign, especially when Jeffrey Sawyer had made his first splashes. Nothing could happen on the long bus trips, because of the media, nor anywhere a camera might be. And since they spent most of their time with Sam - who spent most of his time in front of cameras - there had been no prayer of taking their newly-mended friendship to the next level.

Then there was the other factor, the one Donna quietly called "Amy's ghost," even though Amy was very much alive and had returned to Africa to work with Maendeleo Ya Wanawake. Josh didn't know what he could do about the specter, other than to be respectful of Donna's hesitation - whether or not it drove him crazy.

And here, in Dallas, ensconced in the cozy little St. Germain Hotel, with only their own entourage to worry about, they had found themselves with literally no time whatsoever. In the week they'd been in Dallas, Josh had managed to have only three meals with Donna, and one of them was standing up in a hallway outside a women's caucus meeting. The ride from the Convention Center to the hotel was the longest time he'd spent with her in a single location, and all she'd had to say was that he was "past ripe."

Whoever said that sex and politics went together should be taken out and executed.

Josh watched glumly as Donna went to her room, which was at the other end of the hall from his and which adjoined Matt's. Grim irony, thought Josh, recalling all the wasted trips when he'd used the connecting door to Donna's room as a means to bellow late-night orders which she'd summarily ignored.

This line of thinking was getting him nowhere. He shook it off and meandered into his own room, which was a shambles of paper, discarded clothing, and more paper. Taking a shower alleviated his sour mood a little, as did the phone message telling him that Toby had finally arrived.

At least they were all going to be together for the big event. C.J. had been forbidden to cover the convention as a journalist because of her close relationship with Sam, so she'd come as a private citizen and was enjoying the hell out of being asked to sit in on all sorts of policy meetings. Matt was keeping a relatively low profile, working quietly with Donna as plank after plank of the platform fell into place. All working toward this night.

Nina had spent her week safely ensconced with Helen in what was usually the bridal suite. "I love being trotted out for state occasions," she said as she joined Josh in the lobby. She wore a stunning, simple gown of dark purple silk, and Helen's frillier little-girl dress was pale lilac. The resemblance between mother and daughter was growing more pronounced all the time, except that Helen had her father's intense blue eyes. Photographers couldn't get enough of them and Carol made sure that every photo op made the best of Nina's quiet grace and Helen's arresting beauty.

Mother and daughter posed for a couple of pictures with campaign staffers. Josh admired Nina for making the best of the impossible conundrum: her love of privacy versus the need to be in the public eye for Sam's sake. Concern for Helen was the couple's top priority, and so far the press had been very respectful of the boundaries placed around a little girl about to become famous because of her father.

The last cameras were put away and the staffers went ahead to the Convention Center. "Nervous?" Josh asked Nina, as he fiddled with his tie for the tenth time.

Nina walked over and straightened the knot, looking up at Josh with the same rapturous expression she'd had on her wedding day. Her brown eyes sparkled as she patted him on the chest. "I don't have to do anything but stand there and wave. Sam's got the hard part."

"He is going to kick ass and take names," Josh declared. "But first he needs to come downstairs so he doesn't miss the limo."

"He's just putting the finishing touches on his speech." She looked over Josh's shoulder and waved.

Josh turned around just in time to see C.J. and Toby emerge from the elevator, holding hands and whispering to one another. Like teenagers. Sickening.

He was so jealous he could vomit.

C.J. wore her Emmy gown, the one that had caused the fracas between Toby and Joan Rivers. "For luck," she said as she twirled in front of Helen to make her laugh. Toby looked at C.J. as if he could eat her alive.

Scratch that thought.

Matt arrived next, holding the door for Donna. She wore a simple black dress, nothing fancy, but Josh thought she was the most elegant woman in the very, very fine group. He caught her eye and smiled at her, which made her smile back.

A flurry of dark-suited men heralded Sam's arrival. He wasn't somber, exactly, but he had...what was the word, the one Toby loved so much?

Gravitas. Yes. And he carried himself like a man who could bear the weight of the world upon his shoulders as easily as the little girl he picked up and held in his arms as he led the procession to the limousines.

"Abbey called," Nina said as she waited for an agent to open the door. "She asked if any of us had eaten anything in the last twelve hours." The collective silence gave her the answer. "Just thought I'd bring it up."

Josh climbed into the car with Donna, Toby, and C.J., while Matt went with the Seaborns. "Where's Gary?" Toby asked.

Donna's expression darkened. "He didn't come. He was afraid he'd be a distraction, especially here in the middle of the Bible Belt."

"He's right, but it sucks," C.J. said. "So all the women are wearing his dresses - even Helen. He's here, symbolically."

"He should be here in person," Josh sighed. "I want Sam to be President more than I want to take my next breath, but the cost..." He glanced at Donna, who blushed and looked out the window.

"There is a cost," Toby agreed. "And a toll that it takes on the leaders and their families. Sometimes we don't even see it until it's too late." He folded his hands in his lap, and Josh saw a little tremor.

"How's he doing?" he whispered, but Toby just shrugged and sat back further in his seat, shaking his head as if saying he didn't want to talk about it, not now. Donna's cool fingers slipped into Josh's, and he held on tightly.

They'd asked Jed to be with them, of course, but Abbey said he wasn't feeling well. No one had the heart to ask if it had been an episode of M.S. or simply a sign of encroaching old age. Either way, it cast a pall on the happiness they were all feeling.

Their arrival at the Convention Center set off an explosion of flashes, cameras whirring so loudly that they sounded like helicopters landing in their midst. Sam smiled, Nina beamed. Helen toddled in, holding C.J.'s hand on one side and Toby's on the other. Toby looked like Silas Marner in a tux. Matt walked in alone, his soft eyes full of a mixture of awe and sadness, with Donna right behind him. Josh, bringing up the rear, tried not to flinch at the noises and lights.

The whole night was about noises and lights. About impassioned delegates speaking up for Sam in loud, happy voices. About glitter and balloons and cheers, about hope. About Sam, his dearest friend in all the world, taking his place on the podium and offering himself as the people's servant.

Josh would have to read the speech later, because now he was swept up in the moment itself. This was where Sam was born to be, and Josh was born to put him here. He was surprised to find tears welling up in his eyes, and for a moment he wondered if he was just being weak. But then he turned his head and saw Toby surreptitiously dabbing his eyes while C.J.'s shoulders shook with sobs. Beside them, Donna stood with her fingers over her mouth as a lone tear made its way down her cheek.

Josh held his arms open and she fell into them, sobbing against his chest. "I love him so much," she whispered. "Oh, my God, Josh. I love him so much."

"I know," he said, kissing the top of her head and rocking her back and forth. "I do, too."

There would be art, of course, showing the former White House Deputy Chief of Staff with his cheek pillowed in his former assistant's hair. Josh was peripherally aware that he should give a damn about it. In reality, though, nothing mattered but Sam's voice, strong and clear, as he proudly accepted his party's nomination for President of the United States.

***

It had, Sam thought, been surprisingly easy. When you got right down to it, all he had to do was what he'd done a thousand times before - speak from the heart.

He looked around the dining room at the St. Germain, where his exhausted but exhilarated campaign staff enjoyed food and champagne and one another's company. It was real. It had happened, and he'd accepted, and raised his hand with Matt's high in the air while thousands upon thousands of people cheered.

Sure, his polling numbers were still lower than he'd like, with Jeffrey Sawyer - and probably the sitting President - to blame. But he knew that eventually the message would be too good for people to ignore. It had to be. It was what he'd spent his entire adult life crafting. He could, and would, win this election.

Nina returned after going upstairs to check on Helen again. She slipped her arm around Sam's waist and hugged him. Here was a First Lady to remake the mold of First Ladies, Sam thought. She'd have Carol on her staff, and...

Staff.

Holy hell, he'd never talked about a senior staff with these people. It had seemed like a sure jinx at first, and then later he'd been too busy to actually do anything about it. Now, surrounded by so many people who loved and believed in him, he knew that he could never accomplish anything without them.

He kissed Nina, gaining a round of applause and some catcalls, then went to the middle of the room and tapped a spoon on his champagne glass. "Could I get everyone's attention, please?"

The room fell silent.

"It occurs to me that I've just been assuming you'll all come work for me in the White House," he said as preamble, and everyone laughed. "But since we're all here, I'd like to ask you, formally, to take positions as members of the senior staff." He turned first to C.J. "I can't offer you a couple of million a year in salary, a Park Avenue apartment, or even an office that doesn't leak."

She leaned against Toby, whose arm was around her waist, holding her fast. Her smile was brilliant, one he hadn't seen in far too long. "I don't have to fall into a swimming pool again, do I?"

How he admired her, this bright, shimmering woman with a mind as complex and astonishing as the exquisite ruby ring that twinkled on her right hand. "Not unless I rip up the floor in the Press Room," he quipped, bringing back memories of days gone by. "Name the job, C.J., and it's yours."

"I'd like to be Media Director, then. I don't know if I have Press Secretary in me, but I know someone who does. Give Andrew Wang a call. He's been sitting in for me on "Practical Politics" while Sarah is getting experience as a director, and he's good, Sam. He's incredibly good."

Sam started to ask Ginger to take notes, but she was already scribbling in a pad. He looked at her, waiting until she stopped writing so he could catch her eye. "You didn't have much of an office, last time. Would you be willing...?"

Her expression was priceless when she finally realized that Sam was talking about the desk right outside the Oval Office. Mrs. Landingham's, then Debbie Fiderer's. "Administrative Assistant to the President?" she breathed, looking as if she were about to faint. "Well, I survived eight years of Toby - the last four without you. How hard could it be?"

"That's the spirit!" Sam declared, enjoying the look of mock injury on Toby's face. "And for Chief of Staff I was thinking about Bruno Gianelli. Don't you think that's a great idea?"

Boos and laughter rang through the room. Nina scowled at Sam, then burst into a fit of giggles that left her teary-eyed and breathless.

That left Sam wanting to...

No, not in the middle of putting a senior staff together.

He searched the room for Josh, who was standing off to one side with a glass of champagne in his hand. "You came and got me," Sam said gently. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't turned up at Gage Whitney, soaking wet and pointing out your incredibly bad poker face."

Josh raised the glass to Sam. His lips were pressed tightly together as if to rein in some overwhelming emotion, but he managed to twitch the corners upward.

"Jed told me his criteria for choosing a Chief of Staff. He said it had to be my best friend, someone who loved my enough to tell me when I was screwing up. Someone smarter than I am. Someone I'd trust with my life." Sam walked over to Josh and stood in front of him, his hand outstretched. "I didn't ask, formally, last time. But now I will - I'd like you to be the White House Chief of Staff."

Clasping Sam's hand, Josh finally smiled, his dimples deepening and his dark eyes flashing with delight. "I serve at the pleasure of the President," he murmured.

No one spoke. No one moved. At last, when Josh finally released Sam's hand, Nina's voice broke the stillness. "You got a more formal proposal than I did," she said, making everyone laugh and relax after the emotion of the moment.

"And I actually have to be, you know, elected," Sam reminded everyone.

"Not a problem." It was the old Josh, the brash, self-assured, extraordinary Josh who had turned the Bartlet campaign around in 1998 and again in 2002. And if Josh said it was not a problem, then Sam was inclined to believe him.

He turned to Toby. Toby, the most unlikely of mentors, the most loyal of friends. "Would you consider..." he began, but Toby shook his head.

"It's...it's an honor." Toby held C.J. tighter, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "And I can't begin to tell you what it means to me. But Jed...he's..."

Sam's throat tightened.

Toby cleared his throat, looking at Sam through heavy-lidded eyes. "There've been problems. Abbey's not certain yet if it's M.S., or just him getting older, but...I'm not sure how much time he has left. How much good time."

"I understand," Sam whispered. It was a double disappointment, a double heartache.

"That doesn't mean," Toby added, "that I won't be checking every word that comes out of the Communications Department and giving you constant feedback. And you know that any time you need help with your writing..."

"I can come to you."

"You'd better. And you'd also better get all these people to bed, because there's a campaign to get on the road tomorrow." Toby released C.J. and waved his arms at the crowd. "Go! Get the last four hours of continuous sleep you'll have for the next four years!"

"He's got a point. Everyone - thank you so much. We'll see you in the morning at seven for breakfast." He nodded to his agents, who escorted him to the elevator with Nina while the rest of the crowd dispersed.

***

Josh leaned against the dining room wall with his eyes closed. Finally, finally he was alone, and he could begin to absorb Sam's offer.

Yes, he'd allowed himself to hope - but to expect it, outright, was something he hadn't dared to dream. White House Chief of Staff.

Leo.

His hands trembled as he thought back on the myriad tasks Leo performed every day without getting so much as a wrinkle in his immaculate suits. "I can't do it," he whispered to himself. "I can't be Leo."

"No, but you can be Josh."

The unexpected voice startled him, making him jump. "Donna, Jesus, don't do that!" he sputtered, holding his hand over his heart. He peered around the baby grand piano and found Donna sitting on the bench, her hand caressing the ivory keys in respectful silence. "You've been here all this time?"

"I didn't want to go to bed. I needed to think." She looked up at him. Mascara had pooled beneath her eyes from the half-dozen times she'd cried for joy. Her lipstick was gone, and her blush was streaked with tears.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"I need to think, too," Josh said, sitting next to her and plunking out the first few notes of "Heart and Soul."

"Yuck, don't." Donna closed the lid, then reached for Josh's hand and held it in hers. "I meant it. You can't be Leo, but you can be Josh."

"I'm just not sure how much good a 'Josh' will be," he said. He tilted his head to one side. "I could use a good Deputy," he said. "Want to work for the second-most-powerful man in the nation?"

"I already do, Josh," Donna replied, holding her chin up a little more. "Matt asked me to be his Chief of Staff."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

Josh pondered the idea for a moment. "So you'll be at the O.E.O.B. That's not too far away from my office."

"My office will be closer than you think. Sam wants Matt to office in the White House."

His laughter surprised him, coming from deep in his chest. "Where the hell will they get an office for Matt in the White House?" he demanded. "We couldn't fit a hamster cage in there by the end of the Bartlet administration!"

"I told Sam that Matt's office should adjoin the Oval."

Very funny.

"Matt's not getting my office."

"I'm just saying..." Suddenly she stopped talking and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him, hard, for a long, long time.

He didn't feel inclined to question his good fortune.

Donna broke the kiss and got up, her fingers trailing along Josh's jaw-line. "Don't forget where we had our first kiss, Josh. Piano bench, the St. Germain in Dallas, the night Sam got the nomination."

"It won't be our last, will it?"

Damn, he sounded like a teenager.

She smiled at him, the smile that always turned his knees to oatmeal and removed every drop of saliva from his mouth. "That depends," she responded cryptically.

"Depends on...?" he asked, his mouth all but hanging open.

"Whether Sam wins the election. So do a job, Josh, okay?" She patted him on the cheek, then turned and walked toward her room.

Josh sat for a long time on the bench. He wanted to buy the bench. Hell, throw the piano in there, too. And the hotel. And the sweaty, smelly hellhole that was Dallas in the summer.

Because, come what may, Sam Seaborn was going to be the next President of the United States.


	4. Beginning to Believe

September  
Manchester  
***

One night. It was going to come down to one night.

Matt had already debated the manly, bland replacement for departing Vice-President Atkinson. Assistant Treasury Secretary Christopher Dickinson might as well have come from Central Casting - taller than Matt, broader through the shoulders, an athlete, a father who was soon to become a grandfather. Dickinson had managed to mention his wife and children in answers to questions about everything from health care to farm subsidy bills. Josh had to be sent out of the auditorium because he kept laughing.

Analysis of the Vice-Presidential debate was so polarized along partisan lines that it meant nothing, changed nothing. Conservative Republicans made thinly-veiled homophobic "family values" remarks and talked about a Constitutional amendment to allow government sponsorship of religion. Democrats feared that third-party candidate Jeffrey Sawyer could cause Sam to lose the election unless many people who'd never voted took a sudden interest in politics. Get rid of Sawyer before the Presidential debate, the D.N.C. told the Seaborn for America staff - and by staff, they meant Josh.

"Put me in, coach," Josh told Sam, and, despite some raised eyebrows, he was allowed to play hardball.

Josh began by sparking a massive "Get Out the Vote" campaign. C.J.'s entertainment connections proved to be a godsend, and everything from college rallies to free concerts provided ample opportunity for young voters to try their hand at "overthrowing" the government. The same young people who had been attracted to Jeffrey Sawyer's message of self-preservation met with "the best and the brightest," and, appropriately, began to see the light. Strike one.

He arranged "The Attack of the Killer Ex-Wives" in the form of Andrea Wyatt, now Governor of New Jersey and an outspoken advocate of women's rights, and Amy Gardner, who was scheduled to speak at the United Nations during her visit to the States. Everywhere Jeffrey Sawyer spoke, Amy or Andrea was there, insisting that his position that U.S. neutrality toward the brutalization of women was simply "respect for cultural integrity" was nothing more than dangerous misogyny. Strike two.

Josh then fired a fastball at the heart of the International Party itself, courtesy of information that came to him by way of a citizens' advocacy group in North Carolina. The group, led by an up-and-coming public defender by the name of Charlie Young, discovered that an overseas corporation run by a distant relative of May Heckart Schiller had sent up a Zurich bank account for Jeffrey Sawyer.

Three strikes for Jeffrey Sawyer. Batter up.

If neutralizing Jeffrey Sawyer had been the playoff game, then tonight's Presidential debate in Boston was the World Series. Sam's numbers rose after Sawyer was eliminated, but the polling was still too close for comfort. The debate was going to weigh heavily. Josh had played less of a role in the preparation than he wished, but he could hardly complain when Debate Camp was held at the farm in Manchester and he knew that Sam was getting the best advice that could be had.

Retired Admiral Percy Fitzwallace. Surgeon General Millicent Griffith, who had managed to survive four years of Schiller by keeping her head down and her ideas private, waiting for the next Democratic President. United States ambassadors to foreign nations. Cabinet members, state officials, D.N.C. chairs. And, of course, for economic advice Sam could turn to no one else but Jed Bartlet. 

Despite the headache he got from the combination of brandy fumes and math, Josh enjoyed sitting in the study while Bartlet held court on capitalism, the current economic state in America, and global economic patterns. He loved watching Bartlet make a point that Sam suddenly understood, the way both men's eyes lit up. He loved when Bartlet tried to bait Toby with a complicated question that Toby would easily answer. He even loved when Bartlet turned to him and said, "You don't understand three words of this, do you, Josh?"

The little digs didn't matter. He was doing this thing that he loved, and he was with the people he admired most in the world, and he knew in his heart that Sam was going to mop the floor with President Schiller in the debate.

Because of his bad behavior at Matt's debate, Josh was banned from the drive to Boston, Senior Political Director or no. Sam took only Nina, Matt, and an intern. "I'll feel better knowing that you're watching somewhere...else," he'd said as Josh stood next to the car with his hands on his hips, scowling.

So it was coming down to this one night, and Boston seemed very far away.

Josh stood with his arms folded atop the fence, watching two border collies make a perimeter check around the sheep pen. He wasn't a fan of sheep, or of being outside on a chilly autumn evening, but he couldn't stay in the house for one more minute. All the "Bartlet girls" were there with their husbands - Zoey had carried on her mother's tradition of finding a charming, brilliant divinity student and wooing him away from the Church - and C.J. was staying at the carriage house with Toby.

It hurt to be around all the happy people, so Josh was glad when the sheer number of visitors meant that he was housed with the Secret Service agents in the "bunker." He looked over in that direction, hunching his shoulders as a gust of wind tickled him.

***

Bartlet watched Josh shiver in the night wind. "Abbey said to bring you this," he said as he walked carefully up the gravel path. He handed Josh a well-worn leather jacket. "I think you had this on my first campaign."

"I think I did." Josh smiled as Bartlet helped him put the coat on. "This is a little surreal," he commented.

Bartlet patted him on the shoulder. "You'll be doing this for Sam, soon enough, if you're not already."

"Sam actually doesn't like for me to touch his clothes. He says I exude wrinkles." Josh blinked as he looked from Bartlet's face to the night sky. "I should be there."

"Believe it or not, Josh, I said I thought you should go. But I got overruled." Bartlet smiled, leaning a little on the cane he used for balance. "Are you lost in thought, or may I join you?" He didn't wait for an answer, but sat down carefully on a tree stump while Josh leaned back against the fence. "I'm sorry that Donna couldn't be here. But someone has to mind the store, and she's the only one of you that's not going mad over the debate." It was true. Donna had been the calm center of the storm, so sure that Sam was going to emerge victorious that she had scoffed at the need for a Debate Camp.

Josh set his jaw and nodded. Months of campaign stops where Donna was on one side of the country with Matt and Josh was on the other with Sam had reduced their communication to e-mails and phone calls made in airport lobbies and highway rest stops. Bartlet knew that Josh's 49th birthday had come and gone, spent sulking at the motel coffee shop in Bay Minette, Alabama.

"You've probably been getting a lot of advice about Donna," he said, noticing that Josh's posture slumped at the mention of her name. "So I won't go there tonight. What I do want to talk to you is the job you're about to have, and it'll take a while. Do you mind?"

"We'll miss the debate," Josh said.

Bartlet waved his hand. "Nah, they'll come get us. Besides, I'd rather torture you than watch Sam kick Schiller's ass. That's so easy, it's not even a contest."

"Okay," Josh said, tipping his head back.

There were a dozen expressions competing for room on Josh's face. His mouth was turned down, and his eyes were dark and sad. "What are you thinking, right now?" Bartlet asked.

"Lots of things," Josh said, shrugging. "All the stuff that could trip us up in the end, trying to predict what's next and dealing with it before it happens. Keeping it off of Sam's plate so he can concentrate on the important issues."

"Those are all good things. Leo did those for me, and I never knew about them until they were over - just as Sam won't really understand everything you've done for him until he's a private citizen again. I just wish I'd had more time, after the administration ended, to show Leo how much I appreciated him."

"He knew." It was a whisper, a blessing.

Bartlet nodded as he blinked the bitter tears back. Now wasn't the time for mourning Leo. "Sam's going to be the busiest man in the world, and it's likely that he won't have the chance to demonstrate his appreciation until his term's done. But we were talking a couple of days ago, and I asked him to do me a favor."

"A favor?" Josh asked, looking utterly confused.

"You see, I've been troubled ever since Leo died - there was a debt that I couldn't repay, because he was gone so quickly. So I asked Sam if he'd mind if I kept an eye on you, the way Leo would have done, and it turns out Sam was already thinking about that, about finding ways to lessen the burden."

"It's not a burden," Josh protested. "It's a privilege. I don't just believe in the message - I believe in the man. And anything I can do to help him govern is a mitzvah. A duty that's also a joy."

That earned him a smile. "You are so like him, Josh. As many times as I've wanted to drop-kick your smirking face into another zip code, I've always marveled at your spirit. You've never let tragedy stop you, just as he never let it stop him, and instead of wallowing in grief or self-pity you each turned your situations around and used them to help the whole of humankind. And neither of you gave yourselves enough credit for doing it."

With just the light from the starlit sky, Bartlet could still see color rising on Josh's face. Couldn't take a compliment. Just like Leo.

One of the collies trotted over, looking from one man to the other in hopes of getting some attention. Josh sat cross-legged on the ground and scratched behind the dog's ears. He seemed glad to focus on something else, to avoid Bartlet's gaze. "Does Sam...do you...think I'm going to lose it under stress, the way I did in 2000? Is that why you're worried about this 'burden?'"

"Josh, no." Horrified, Bartlet put his hand over his heart. "You've come so far since then. That's not what we mean at all."

Josh let the dog lick his face a few times, then leaned against the fence with his legs outstretched, the collie settling down beside him with his head on Josh's thigh. "Okay," Josh said quietly, his hand coming to rest on the dog's head.

"We just want to spare you as much heartache as possible. God knows you've seen enough." He had to stop, bowing his head for a moment. How he loved this man, this troubled, troublesome man. "And we don't want anything to happen to you again, Josh. It hurt too much when we almost lost you."

Abbey's voice, cutting through the anesthetic fog. You have to focus, Jed. There's something I have to tell you. Josh was shot, honey, and it's serious. Yes. He might not make it. He could die.

The stricken, sick look in Leo's eyes. C.J., barely holding it together. Sam's waxwork pallor on the morning shows. Toby, haunting the hospital corridors, surrounded by a miasma of self-recrimination.

Donna's wraithlike presence, keeping Death at bay with nothing more than love. Abbey found her late that night, sobbing her heart out in a closet, and had her brought to Bartlet's room so they could pray together. Fervent, painful prayers. Please, God, not Josh, please don't let him die, please, please, it's not right, it's not right...

Josh shifted, pulling his knees close to his chest and resting his forehead on his crossed arms. The dog whimpered and nuzzled his elbow.

"I don't mean to bring up painful memories, Josh. Forgive me." He reached out and put his hand on Josh's head, just as he had in the recovery room. "But just in case Sam's elected, and just in case he's so busy letting you run the country that he forgets to tell you - I want to make sure you understand just how much he loves you. Because I loved Leo that much, and..." His voice gave out, leaving the pale gray cloud of his breath hanging silently in the air.

There was a creak of leather as Josh got up. He held his hand out to Bartlet, who grasped it tightly, then with unexpected swiftness Josh leaned over and embraced him. Grateful, affectionate, still a little dazzled after all these years and all these experiences. As loving as a son.

Leo, shoving Josh into the tiny Manchester office. This is the son of an old friend, and he's brilliant. He'll make you the President. Hire the guy, wouldya, Jed?

"Jed?" It was Abbey, standing a few feet away. Still, always, his beautiful firebrand. "The debate's going to start in a couple of minutes."

Josh backed away, straightening up, trying to disguise the sentiments playing out across his mercurial face. "I gotta see this. Aren't you coming?"

He didn't have the heart, not just yet, to remind himself of what was so far in his past. "In a minute. I'm going to sit and think for a bit."

"Not too long, old man," Abbey said softly. She turned to Josh. "I can't see for crap out here in the dark - may I?" She put her arm through his, making him think he was supporting her instead of the other way around. "This good-looking fellow will see me home, since you're indisposed. But don't be long."

He just needed a minute to send a message up...there. Wherever Leo was, wherever his indomitable spirit hovered. "He's gonna do just fine, Leo. He's gonna do just fine."

Not really an answer, the sudden warmth, the surge of strength that let him walk back to the house at a brisker pace than normal. But it was enough. Oh, yes, it was enough.

***  
October  
New York City  
***

It wasn't so much being beaten by Sam Seaborn that had made President Schiller turn mean in the final weeks of the campaign - it was that Sam had beaten him while being polite, even deferential, and utterly, completely professional.

Suddenly, campaign ads went from simple, homespun messages about hearth and family to statements from a long-forgotten Princeton roommate saying that Sam had smoked pot at a party. Sam Seaborn, friend of a prostitute, complete with the ancient photograph. Sam Seaborn, dating his boss' daughter while working in the White House.

Petty as the sudden smear campaign was, as much as Sam - and even Nina – found it amusing, it pissed C.J. off so much that she decided to do something about it on the air. She knew exactly who to have on as a guest, too.

Because the only person more pissed off than C.J. was Toby.

Half a floor at the Plaza was taken up with the Bartlet and Seaborn entourages, who had come to town for what Matt called "the floor show." C.J. and Toby were coming over for a late drink after the interview.

***

C.J. and Toby were going to go to the Plaza after the interview, and, with luck, they'd get back to her apartment before sunrise.

Ah, the vampire life.

She took her place in the familiar chair - the one she would be leaving behind if Sam won, although she hadn't bothered to announce the offer to NBC – and smiled as Toby put on his mike and submitted to the application of another coat of powder to his head. "You ready?"

"You bet." He would look relaxed to any normal viewer, but C.J. saw the coiled, serpentine strength beneath the professorial exterior. He pulled his jacket down, sitting carefully on it so that it wouldn't ride up during the interview, then waited as C.J. introduced him.

"My guest tonight is the author of 'An Assembly of Words' and 'Dead Right,' and the co-author, along with former President Jed Bartlet, of 'In This White House.' It's my pleasure to introduce former White House Communications Director Toby Ziegler."

"Thank you, C.J. It's a pleasure to be here."

Those were the last polite words out of his mouth.

***

Nina stared, aghast, at the television. "Is he allowed to say that?"

"...despicable acts of a desperate man..."

Josh high-fived Matt.

"...repeated statements indicating, at best, a degree of homophobia previously left unspoken in the Republican Party..."

Toby was on a roll as only Toby could be. "...educational policies whose outcomes look sound on paper but in practice will do nothing more than to ensure a permanent underclass..."

Nina remembered Sam saying something like that a few weeks earlier. She stole a glance at her husband, who seemed to be enjoying the program with a little more glee than might be considered seemly. Then again, they were sitting in a room with the Bartlets, Matt, Gary, Donna, and Josh. Who among them wouldn't be having a wonderful time watching Toby, master chef, carving up the Schiller Presidency?

"...an attempt to overthrow the most basic of Constitutional rights, that of freedom of religion, the bastion of our nation, the cornerstone of our democracy, the reason my father's father and the Founding Fathers all made the heart-wrenching decision to leave their homes and seek out this new and better land..."

C.J. wasn't saying anything, really, just asking a couple of brief questions and letting Toby run with his ideas. Nina recognized the strategy now, even though she was still vaguely uncomfortable with it. But, dammit, Schiller had gone on television and called her husband a panderer and a traitor. It had taken every ounce of her considerable will to smile during interviews and say that there wasn't a person in the world who didn't have a few skeletons in the closet, and that her husband was surely no exception.

What she really wanted to do was punch Schiller's lights out.

No.

"...these inexcusable, low blows aimed at the greatest heart, the finest mind, the most loyal and loving man I've ever known must not - shall not – go unanswered."

What she really wanted to do was...exactly what Toby was doing.

***

They escaped the studio, taking the ashen-faced Andrew with them, ignoring the ringing phones and the horrified, if secretly amused, expressions of the crew. Someone shouted something about ratings going through the roof. Someone else shouted something about Schiller's people demanding retractions, equal air time, and Toby's head on a platter.

C.J.'s stature, as much as her fame, got them a cab on the busy street, and minutes later they were in the lobby of the Plaza, explaining to the Secret Service agents that Andrew had already been vetted and was surely on someone's list.

"I'm on someone's list, all right," Andrew mumbled, but he wasn't completely suppressing his grin.

Donna, still the least recognizable face in the party, met them in front of the elevator and rode up with them. "I haven't seen Josh look like that since Ritchie tanked in the debate."

C.J. threw her head back and laughed. "How's Sam?"

"Pacing the room, saying he's going to kill Toby with his bare hands."

"Me?" Toby put his hands out in an exaggerated "who, me?" gesture. "All I did was exercise my right to freedom of speech while it's still a right."

"There's your sound-byte," C.J. told him as the agents parted to let them out into the hallway. She knocked sharply on the door of the Presidential Suite and Abbey answered.

"Way to go, tiger!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Toby. "We have some raw meat for you over there in the cage."

Before Toby had a chance to respond, Josh shouted that Schiller was on the news. "He's in the Mural Room! You have got to see this!"

The President of the United States was turning redder by the instant. "Even assuming that Mr. Ziegler has the right to make such scurrilous remarks on television, I'm calling the technique of the so-called 'interview' into question."

"Why is that, Mr. President?" asked an off-screen reporter.

"Because it's just a way to get free air time for the Democratic campaign."

"I still hate this whole 'I won't say the other guy's name thing,'" Bartlet commented.

"Well, Mr. President," said another reporter, "we're interviewing you in the Mural Room of the White House, which could also be construed as gaining free air time for your campaign."

"The difference is that, in this case, the interviewee and the journalist aren't husband and wife."

Toby grabbed the remote from Josh's limp fingers and snapped the television off.

"Wow," Sam said, steepling his fingers together. "He's really losing it. That's way, way out of line."

"Can he just make stuff up like that?" Donna asked, frowning at the blank screen.

C.J. realized what it must be like to take a punch in the gut. She looked at Toby, whose expression was a comical mixture of dismay and embarrassment, then at Bartlet.

"I think you're busted, guys," he said mildly.

The room went suddenly, ominously silent. C.J. closed her eyes, hoping against hope that the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Or, barring such a miracle, that Josh would at least close his mouth. She turned slowly and fixed her gaze on Gary.

"It wasn't me," Gary said as he adjusted his glasses. "C.J., really. It wasn't me."

"Were you in on this?" Matt demanded.

"I made her a suit, that's all. I didn't say anything to anyone."

"He's telling the truth," Donna said, staring intently at C.J. "I pestered him for a week to tell me why you needed it, and he just kept saying that it was for the interview at the farm." She grinned, triumph brightening her eyes. "I was right! I knew it! You got married that week."

Toby, who had been gnawing his lower lip in silence, nodded.

"It was a lovely little ceremony," Abbey said quickly. "Ainsley Hayes did the honors--"

"Ainsley Hayes?" chorused Matt and Sam.

"You got married by a Republican?" Josh asked on the heels of their dismayed question.

"She's a J.P. now. She got married a couple of years ago and had a baby, and she wanted to slow down a bit. I thought she did very well." Abbey beamed at Toby. "She tried to get Toby to vow to obey C.J. It almost made up for the wedding pie."

Donna blinked rapidly. "I...so do not want to know about wedding pie." She turned a baleful eye on Josh. "And don't you dare ask if it was cherry pie, either."

He didn't seem to hear her, although Bartlet snickered and even Toby managed a smile. Instead, he looked down at the floor. "You didn't tell us. It's been almost a year, and you didn't tell us. We weren't invited."

"I wasn't invited to your wedding, Josh!" C.J. exclaimed, feeling heat rise in her face. She grimaced. "Sorry, Donna."

Donna shrugged. "No, it's okay. I wasn't invited to his wedding, either."

"Hey!" Josh cried. "Since when did this turn into a round of beating me up over something that happened a million years ago?"

"Four years ago," Toby said to the ceiling.

"Whatever!"

"It happened after Toby had the heart attack that turned out to be gastroenteritis," C.J. said, trying to keep her voice down. "I couldn't get anyone to tell me how he was because I wasn't next of kin. So we got married. It's no big deal."

"Excuse me?" Toby asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No, no, I didn't mean that..."

"But you live in different cities!" Nina piped up.

"Which is best for everyone involved. Toby and I are happy with the situation - why aren't you?" She wanted to cry. She would cry, if someone didn't tell her...

"It's all right." Gary. Soft-spoken, reaching out to fold her up in his arms. "I think everyone in this room understands what it's like to be in an unconventional romance."

Of all of them, Gary was the easiest target, and he'd borne more than his fair share of abuse in the press. His word on the subject was inviolate. It was more than enough to bring the arguments to a halt.

"I'm sorry," Donna said, displacing Gary so she could hug C.J. tightly. "I'm really happy for you. It was just...a weird way to find out."

"Exactly," Josh agreed, although he still looked more than a little shocked. He, too, embraced C.J. After Josh came Andrew, Sam and Nina, and Matt, all offering belated but sincere best wishes.

"I was there, too, you know, sort of off to one side and stuff," Toby admonished.

Laughing, Nina threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. "You got the good end of the deal - you expect congratulations, too?"

"Now that the cat's out of the bag, it wouldn't bother me too much," he said, cutting a glance at Sam.

Sam. C.J.'s heartbeat still quickened every time she allowed herself to believe that Sam, her Sam, Toby's Sam, would shortly belong to the entire country. She knew, with intuition born of long, hard days and nights fought by his side, that Sam would always retain a streak of hero-worship where Toby was concerned. She adored him for it.

She adored him even more when he took a few long steps across the room and grabbed Toby in a fierce embrace. She sensed the tension leaving Toby's body - for all his bluster, he couldn't bear to have Sam angry with him for even ten minutes - and smiled when Sam whispered his thanks for Toby's breathtaking, passionate defense.

Toby smiled, fully, with dimples. "It was over the top, what I said tonight. And Schiller's right - I shouldn't have taken an interview with C.J. I'll apologize if you want me to."

Sam shook his head. "Don't you dare. Just - make sure the marriage is legal, okay?"

"It's certainly been consummated," Bartlet said under his breath. Abbey poked him in the ribs. "Well, it's true. They didn't come out for two days."

"We ran out of pie." Toby quirked an eyebrow at Sam, who barked out a sharp laugh in response. "Come on, C.J. I think we've provided enough entertainment for one night."

"Good night, everyone," she said, hoping she would always remember the delight on the faces of her dearest friends. As she and Toby walked arm in arm toward her apartment, she was so giddy, so euphoric, that she was practically skipping.

"What?" Toby whispered in her ear.

"I won't be able to call him 'Spanky' anymore," she giggled.

Toby stopped walking and stared at her. "You are a very, very strange woman," he said, but he had a sweetly amused smile on his face as he said it.

"Seriously! I mean, it never really occurred to me before. I can't exactly call him "President Spanky! God, Toby, it's so wonderful!"

He tugged at his beard, regarding her with warmth and bewilderment in his eyes. Then he leaned forward, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her for five minutes, right there on the steps of F.A.O. Schwartz, while a crowd watched and applauded.


	5. Beginning to Believe

November - Election Night  
Washington, D.C.  
***

Sam spent the evening mingling with campaign workers, posing for photos, talking to enthusiastic volunteers. Once in a while he would glance up at a monitor as results came in from east to west. Then he would look over at Josh, whose face was bathed in the glow of a dozen televisions as he watched with rapt attention. All around him were excited voices, but Josh's attention was focused on a constant crawl of locations and numbers. A few times during the evening he would drag his gaze away from the screens and search the crowd for Sam, his eyes full of awe.

The electoral vote was turning out to be in favor of the Seaborn/Skinner ticket. Sam kept looking at the board, watching state after state turn blue. Unbelievable. A sea of blue in parts of the country that had overwhelmingly elected Schiller four years earlier was attributable to Josh's infectious energy and ability to strategize a situation in painstaking detail. Watching Josh plan a campaign sweep was like watching a jeweler cut a perfect six-carat diamond.

"Senator, may I please get a picture?" asked a college-age volunteer, holding a camera and smiling shyly. Sam waved someone over to take their photograph together, then autographed the young man's "Seaborn for America" t-shirt with a heavy black marker. He never tired of the exuberance of the people who'd traveled with the team, the ones who made the phone calls and canvassed neighborhoods, who arranged van pools and helped sort out voter registration difficulties. No matter what happened tonight, he'd never forget that hundreds of total strangers had given their precious time on behalf of his ideals.

Leo had taught him that.

"We got Texas!" Donna's delighted cry brought about a fresh round of applause and cheers. Last-minute campaigning from former Vice-President John Hoynes - also courtesy of Josh - had given them the electoral votes that put them tantalizingly close to an early victory.

Nina cheered as ardently as anyone else, but as state after state went to Sam, her face grew ever whiter until her dark brown eyes stood out like topaz against the ivory of her skin. She clutched C.J.'s arm as a blue light went on behind Texas, looking for all the world as if she might faint. Sam rushed up to her and put his arm around her waist. "Are you okay?"

"How can you stand it?" she whispered through clenched teeth. "I can't even breathe."

He had forgotten that this was the first election in which the stakes were personal for Nina. And what a maiden voyage it was, with a win meaning a move into the White House and living with eyes on the nation focused on her. So much to ask, so willingly and lovingly given.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear. That, at least, brought spots of color to her cheeks. Sam peeled Nina's fingers, one by one, from C.J.'s reddening forearm and kept her hand fast in his.

"I'm glad, because I voted for you. Oh, I'm sorry," Nina said to C.J. as if becoming aware that she'd used her as a pincushion.

She laughed, the silvery sound cutting easily through the din of two hundred people in a ballroom. "It's okay. I've had worse on election night. It'll be over in an hour - sooner, if we get early results from California and they go our way."

Our way. Sam grinned at the thought. "Have we seen exit numbers?"

"Josh is calling Joey Lucas, and I'm calling...a few favors from here and there. We'll know in an hour or so."

Only an hour. It was possible - probable - that he would be the incoming President. So soon. Like a train coming at him through a tunnel.

He shook off the rising nervousness. He was ready. Matt was ready. He truly had a staff to remember, the next generation of "the best and the brightest," and everyone was working toward a common goal. Focused.

Nina shivered a little. It was instinct, second nature, to hold her closer, to rub his palm along her arm. She looked up at him. "I'm so proud," she murmured. "I can't believe this is really happening."

"That's how I felt in '98. I knew, but I didn't completely process it until days later, when Toby gave me ten pages of inaugural address to write."

He remembered it all. The thrill of seeing his name on stationery with a picture of the White House. The inane grins they shared at the most mundane tasks. The first time C.J. lip-synched to "The Jackal." The fact that they were stunned enough to enjoy meetings that would later seem stultifying.

Getting their names. Princeton, Flamingo. Oscar the Grouch, for Toby. Josh, bristling at Motormouth. Josh again, on his first day back after the shooting, standing with the President's arm around his shoulders as Ron gave him a new name: Phoenix.

That memory jolted him back to the present. He leaned backwards, suddenly lightheaded. He'd been Princeton for so, so long. But that was going to change. 

POTUS.

"Oh, God," he breathed. Nina gave him an anxious look, and he tried to muster up a smile for her. "It's okay. I'm good."

She raised an eyebrow and he kissed her on the forehead, burying his face in her hair for a moment. It was likely to be one of the last times tonight they would be allowed even that small privacy.

"Here it comes," Josh said. His whole body was a tightly coiled spring. He ran one hand through his hair and with the other he turned the volume as far up as he could. "Quiet, quiet!" he tried to yell, but his voice was failing him. 

Toby stepped in. "Shut the hell up!" he bellowed.

"Polls on the West Coast are closed," said the announcer, "and even without the total from California there is a clear winner in the Electoral College. We are calling the 2010 Presidential Election for California Senator Samuel Seaborn."

Mad rush of blood through the ears. Pandemonium in the room. Cheers, screams, champagne. Tears. Holding Nina, kissing her, hoping the passion in his lips could even begin to thank her for what she'd sacrificed. Flashbulbs. Toby, one arm around C.J. and the other around Donna, all three of them laughing and crying at once.

Find Josh.

Sam scanned the massive crowd. No sign of unruly hair, no thousand-watt smile. Everyone but the one who put him here, who believed it could be done and let nothing get in his way. "Where's Josh?" he asked Donna as she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

"Upstairs, I think - C.J., where did Josh go?"

"Media's in the hall. He's probably dealing with them," C.J. reminded Sam as she kissed him on the cheek. "They'll be breaking down the doors in about ten seconds."

"I want to talk to Josh," Sam called over the heads of the people who were descending upon him. "Find him."

C.J. gave Donna a push, dislodging her from Toby's embrace. "Go."

"I'll just..." Donna pointed toward the door. Her finger shook, and she looked absolutely dazed. "Go. Find him."

"Is she okay?" Nina asked.

"Sure she is." C.J. didn't sound convinced. "If she's not back in ten minutes, Toby, you go find her. I'm going to stay here with Sam, just in case there's a media issue. Matt - over here!"

Media issue didn't even come close to describing what happened next. It was a feeding frenzy the likes of which Sam hadn't seen since the first Bartlet election. Maybe not even then. He managed to drape his arm around Nina and smile broadly as the cameras pointed at him.

"As you can imagine," he began, "things are a little loud right now, but I'll do my best for you. First and foremost, I want to thank the voters of the United States for their extraordinary support. And my good friend, soon-to-be Vice President Matthew Skinner - oh, here he is." He held his hand out to Matt, who shook it before enfolding Sam in a hug. "We haven't had a chance to talk to each other since we found out just now, so please bear with us."

Laughing, Matt kissed Nina on the cheek and stood on the other side of her. "Did you say thank you?" he asked Sam.

"I started with that, actually. And now, I'd like to thank my opponent, President Gregory Schiller, for a well-run campaign that kept me on my toes."

"Has he called?" asked a reporter.

"I...I honestly don't know. If the phone's ringing in here, there's no way I'd be able to hear it." Laughter. It relaxed him, let him give a genuine smile to the assembled journalists. Flashes went off again and again as he held Matt's hand up in the air. "Have you seen Josh?" Sam asked out of the corner of his mouth. Matt gave his head a slight shake.

"What are you going to do with the rest of your evening?" was another question.

"Well, I'm going to start by sitting down for the first time since I drove to the polls this morning. I think food's a good idea, too. But right this minute?" He turned his head, taking in the streamers, the dancing, the music and cheers. "I think I'm going to drink this in for a little bit. How about a press conference tomorrow, eight a.m.?"

"Yes, sir," agreed the reporters as a group as they disbanded, eager to interview other campaign staffers.

Sam watched them wander off, microphones and video cameras in hand. Before he had a chance to ask if anyone had found Josh, Ginger ran up to him with a cell phone in her hand. "It's President Schiller," she said. "It's the...well, you know."

Wow. This was going to be hard.

"Where can I take this call? Is there any place that's not, you know, totally over the edge?"

Ginger took him by the hand and led him to the women's bathroom.

"You are kidding me."

"This one's off-limits to anyone but Nina." She patted him on the arm. "You did well, boss. I even voted for you."

"Thanks. I think." He waved her off and leaned against the sink. He was taking the concession call from the outgoing President of the United States, standing in the women's restroom with his back against a sink.

Definitely surreal.

"Mr. President? This is Sam Seaborn."

"I'm sorry, Senator - the President was called away on an emergency. This is Saundra Hoffman, his personal assistant. The President wishes to offer you his congratulations and to tell you that he concedes the 2010 elections. Thank you for taking my call."

"Thank you, Ms. Hoffman." He flipped the phone shut. Wow. Not so hard.

Toby was waiting for him when he came out of the bathroom. "That's the ladies' room, there, Sam."

"Look, Ginger put me in there to take Schiller's call - although it wasn't Schiller, it was his personal assistant."

"Wow. You've been elected for five minutes, and you're already getting dissed."   
Sam fought back the impulse to burst into hysterical laughter. Toby's face was a study in contrast, the grouchy mouth offset by the twinkle in his eyes. "If that's an omen, I'm moving to Bolivia. Has anyone seen Josh?"

"I did, yes." Toby's hand went into his beard, and Sam could have sworn that he was masking a grin. "He was, as God is my witness, asking Donna to the Inaugural Ball, and by the time I finished, you know, vomiting, he'd wandered off. But right now you need to get to a television. Jed's going to say a few words."

They strode briskly to a smaller room with a television and just enough room for Sam, Matt, Gary, Nina, Toby, and C.J. "Donna tried to go to the ladies' room, but the Secret Service stopped her," C.J. said. "So they put her in the men's room."

"That makes as much sense as anything else I've heard in the last ten minutes." He focused his attention on the screen. "He looks pretty good."

"Yeah - Abbey called a few minutes ago to tell us he'd be on. He's pretty perky tonight." C.J. turned up the volume. "Here we go."

Bartlet was seated in his favorite chair with Abbey at his side. "Of course I'm pleased about tonight's victory. I even voted for him."

Matt slapped Sam on the back. "I voted for you, too. No wonder you did so well."

Gary shushed him, then everyone turned back to the former President as he spoke about the future President.

"I met Sam Seaborn on a cold, wet day at the campaign headquarters in Manchester. He came in with Joshua Lyman - whose name I still hadn't quite mastered - and my campaign manager, Leo McGarry, said Sam would be writing for me. I was thinking about a thousand things then, as you can imagine, so I just stuck out my hand without really looking up. There was something in his voice when he said he was pleased to meet me...I can't quite describe it. But it made me look at him, and what I saw when I looked into his eyes wasn't a pretty face. It was a beautiful soul.

"Now, that doesn't mean that I remembered his name right away, either. I used to get him mixed up with Toby Ziegler, if you can believe that." Toby hunched his shoulders and glared at the television. "But it all came together the night of the Illinois primary. Josh's father died unexpectedly and I saw him off at the airport, then I went back to the hotel to give the speech Sam had written for me. Those words were so powerful, so strong and magnificent, that I had to go track him down and talk to him. Really talk to him, for the first time.

"Here he was, being congratulated by the new Democratic nominee for President, but his mind wasn't on the praise. It was on Josh's loss. There aren't too many men who wouldn't have forgotten a friend's pain, or at least set it aside. Sam even apologized for his lack of focus on my words - but I admired that in him and I told him so.

"Over the years, he became a valued advisor and trusted friend. When he decided to move on to other things, it almost broke my heart. But I knew he was destined for this. The only thing to do was to let him try his wings and offer my prayers that he would soar."

Bartlet sat forward in the chair. His face was thin, his hair almost completely gray, and there was a slight stiffness in his posture. None of those things could dim the compassion and intelligence in his eyes as he finished his remarks with a simple declaration.

"I'm so very proud of you, Sam."

Some pundits appeared on the screen, saying they'd be back after a commercial. Sam switched the television off, his heart too full for the speech his friends seemed to expect. "I'm going to find Josh," he murmured.

He picked up four Secret Service agents as he started walking up and down the halls. Finally, one of the agents asked him what he needed. "Oh, Mr. Lyman's in his room."

"In his room? He's just sitting up there, by himself?"

"Yes, sir," the agent replied.

Frowning, imagining a dozen improbable scenarios, Sam took off quickly for Josh's room and knocked on the door. "Josh? You there?"

"Yeah. Just a minute." The door opened, showing Josh in shirt sleeves, his tie undone. "Did you need something?"

Sam turned to the agents. "Could we have the room, please?" he asked, and after a quick look through the room the agents withdrew. Sam could still see their feet through the crack at the bottom of the door. He turned to Josh. "Are you okay?"

Josh's hands were in front of his mouth, almost in an attitude of prayer. "I'm...fine," he said absently. "It was just too crowded in there, that's all."

"It's a little insane." Sam sat down, motioning for Josh to take a seat in the other chair. "Are you coming to the party? It'll be just us and a few of the lead staffers, no big crowds."

"In a minute. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

Sighing, Josh bowed his head. "I miss them."

Sam was lost. "Who?"

"Leo. My dad. They were the two people whose recognition I craved more than any others. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to do it for you."

"Josh." Sam ducked, making Josh meet his eyes. "You did magnificently. There's no way any of this would have happened if it weren't for you."

"I appreciate that. Truly. But I miss them, Sam," Josh said, his voice breaking. "I miss them so much."

"I feel the same way." Sam let Josh pull himself together before continuing. "They'd have loved what you accomplished. There's not another person in America - hell, there's not another person on this planet who could have gotten me elected President. Don't let yourself forget that, ever." He stood up and extended his hand to Josh, who looked up at him with tears in his eyes. Sam felt wetness on his own face and realized that he, too, was crying.

Josh tugged at Sam's hand and they embraced, holding one another tightly. "Thank you, Josh," Sam whispered. "Thank you for...all of it."

"You're welcome." Josh took a step backwards, catching his breath, and a sudden smile dawned on his face like the light of a new day. He cocked his head toward the door. "You should get to the party."

Sam nodded, reaching for the doorknob. Josh stopped him, opening the door with a flourish and stepping aside.

"Let's go downstairs," he said softly. His voice was laden with emotion. "After you, Mr. President."


End file.
